Beautiful Rose
by The Nagisa Thesis
Summary: Kari is looking back on a horrible accident and sees it from the victims point of view. It's amazing what a soul can teach you. This is written for my best friend, who was in an accident, please R/R, and bear with me, it's wordy, yet short! ^^;


A/N: Lemme explain; I'm hyper, and I just got some bad, bad, bad news

A/N: Lemme explain; I'm hyper, and I just got some bad, bad, bad news.  My best friend in the whole wide world, who shall remain nameless, got in a car accident this week, and he got banged up really badly.  So I decided I would write a fanfic for him.  So. *beams* For my dearest big brother, whom I love unconditionally and forever, this is for you; Aijou.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "beautiful", and I probably misinterpreted it, but then again…I don't really care.  It's owned by Joydrop, and it's a pretty song.  I don't own Digimon, and I probably never will.  So nobody try to get the rights off of me.  Now, here we go.

_Beautiful Rose_

I'm standing on a cement graveyard.  Out of the twenty people who were thrown into the arms of death here, twelve were taken away for all eternity.  If I squint, I can see the blood still marking the pavement.  It lingers like a wicked stain, curling and pooling and glistening in the dim midday sun.  I know it's long been washed away, but the red tint is still there.  It paints the ground its demon red and laughs at me, smiling in triumph.  This is evil ground.

I look down at the rose in my hands.  It's blood red, soft like velvet, yet its colour is sharp and strong, like a ruby.  I'm confused, now.

The sensation of fear in the air is thick, like a blanket.  I can feel the souls swim around me:  those who lost their lives, and those who came close to it.  They crawl and whisper and tell me their life story.  I don't want to listen.

Yet one creeps towards me, sifting through the raindrops, reaching out its transparent fingertips to touch me.  And it comes like a mist, its familiar face hopeful and afraid.  It envelops me, and I am drowning.

I can see the taillights of a car in front of me, driving steadily through the rain.  The song on the radio is soft and melodious.  I can feel the lyrics touching my hand and face, begging for me to listen and learn.

"If I was beautiful like you…" 

The rain is like a curtain in front of me and behind me and all around me, yet I'm safe in my car.  I'm in his shoes; I'm watching my life that has passed me by go surging into vicious reality.  Suddenly, the lights flash bright.  My foot unconsciously slams down, and I skid.  The car swerves, I can feel it wrench out of my grip, and I feel the sudden stop.  The only thing that I can hear now is a loud crash that follows in grim succession, and the shatter of glass piercing my mind.

I'm on the outside looking in, watching from above as the pride and joy of my family, the flower, the rose, is launched unceremoniously through the windshield of the car, and skids along the pavement.  The cars in front and behind and all around are in a jumbled pile of scrap metal and bodies.  People are impaled on shards of glass, people are bleeding, sirens are wailing, people are screaming and crying.

And yet my rose lies, blood-laden and rich, red as a fresh-cut flower in an ungraceful heap on the ground, still and quiet.  His soul screams.

The deafening wail rips through my mind and I'm suddenly jerked back into a tangible world of reality.  The soul washes over me like a tsunami, and I am myself again.  In this world, a woman wails for the loss of her son, a man puts his hand on her shoulder and murmurs words of support, and I am a lone figure standing before all others, on the battleground that had once been.

Wordlessly my face softens empathetically.  I had seen the accident that had taken my brothers vivacity and thrown him out into the recesses of mortality; farther than he had ever wanted to go.

I crouch down and lay my bloodstained rose, my gift, upon the pavement, and make the sign of the cross over it.

"May you all rest in peace…" I murmur, and straighten my legs.  They ache, like hinges that so desperately need oil.  Another wail lurches from the crowd and I look skyward at the dim, midday sun.

"Kari!" mothers voice beckons me, and I turn with a defeated smile on my face.  My parents huddle around a small figure who is weak and trembling in his dark jacket.  His locks and masses of gentle brown hair tumble in his face, and he clings helplessly to a crutch that is tucked under his arm like it's all he has in the world.  The memories cloud his eyes like fever and he trembles, whimpering softly.  My parents hover around him, their touches barely anything against his shoulders and face.  He shivers with fear, his brief encounter with death reducing him from mighty lion in his prime, to trembling lamb who has lost his flock.

I smile compassionately up at him and walk swiftly towards him.  Gently, yet forcefully, I throw my arms around his neck, and pull him close.

"Kari, be careful!" my parents warn.  But I am so very careful.  I am careful to consider what he needs.  He does not need to be alienated; he does not need to be treated like glass.  He needs to be loved, and to acknowledge that he was really alive, not some dead shadow lingering in the air.

I feel him waver uncertainly, and then suddenly latch onto me for support.  Our hug is brief, yet speaks volumes.

I pull away and peer up at him.  His brown eyes cloud over with confusion and bewilderment, put as I press my palms to his cool cheeks they flash with recognition and joy.  My brother was once dead, but is now alive.  He was once blind, but now sees.

"Aijou, Taichi…" I whisper in elation.  I pull him close to me once more and let him lean on me.  I understand…

He pulls me close and shudders in relief.

"Aijou…" he whispers in return.


End file.
